‘Don’t worry about Fronto,’ Furius interrupted. ‘There have been some changes within the company since you were last here. One of the other companies had a sudden vacancy for a Tesserarius, so Fronto has also been promoted and transferred. He is now with the fourth.’
‘I am not sure I understand,’ Fergus muttered.
“The Tesserarius of the fourth is gravely ill. He’s in a hospital in Carnuntum. The company needed a replacement, so we have given them Fronto,’ Furius snapped. ‘And you two have been forbidden from speaking to one another. We do not want any further trouble, is that clear?’
‘Yes Sir,’ Fergus replied.
‘Do you have a good man who can take over as Decanus of your old squad,’ Titus said as he came up to Fergus.
Fergus blinked, still not fully recovered from his surprise. Then hastily he nodded.
‘Aledus is a good man, he would make the best choice. He has the respect of the others.’
‘Good then that is settled,’ Titus growled. ‘I will have the signifer make the changes to your personnel files and salary. The company will be informed at the dawn roll call tomorrow.’
For a moment, the room was silent, as Fergus took a deep breath.
‘You are probably thinking about why did I chose you and not Fronto,’ Titus said patting Fergus on his shoulder before slowly retracing his steps to his chair. ‘Well the truth is that Fronto is a better soldier than you. He is stronger and more experienced and he will make a fine company watch-commander,’ Titus paused to look at the ground. Then he looked up at Fergus. ‘But I like you. You may be young but you are a natural leader of men. Maybe one day you will make it to become a Centurion. I have observed how your squad treat you and you are not so full of yourself as some of the others. That is refreshing. And there is something else.’ Titus gave Furius a quick sideways glance. ‘Those scouts, special-forces who you helped save. They were carrying important news for the Legate Hadrian. It is because they survived, that we now know about the large Marcomanni raiding force that is assembling on the other side of the river. By saving their lives, you have provided Hadrian with some vital information and saved gods know how many lives.’
‘Thank you Sir, I didn’t know,’ Fergus said quickly.
‘Well you do now,’ Titus said as a rare smile appeared on his lips. “Now the role of Tesserarius is not just to keep the company watchword. No, the watch commander is the Optio’s deputy. It is an important role. I hope that you will take the responsibility seriously, Fergus.’
‘I will Sir.’
“That will be all, Watch-Commander,’ Titus said gesturing for Fergus to leave.
Outside and alone once more, Fergus took a deep breath and then clenched his fist in an outburst of fierce joy and satisfaction. He’d made it. He’d been promoted to Tesserarius, the highest rank that his grandfather, Corbulo, had ever reached, and he was only a shade over twenty years old. Galena and his family would be proud and so would Corbulo. Pulling his grandfather’s sword from its scabbard, he gazed at the cold steel and then stifled an excited laugh.
‘Are you watching old man,’ Fergus whispered glancing up at the dull grey sky.
Then replacing the sword, he suddenly looked troubled. The gods had a cruel and strange way of managing the fates of men. Tiber had lost his life but he, Fergus, had been promoted. The gods were cruel and they played terrible games. Winners and losers, Fergus thought, as he set off to find his mess-mates.
Winners and losers; that was what it all came down to in the end.
Chapter Twenty-Three – Across the Danube
The river harbour of Carnuntum was packed with over a thousand soldiers. It was growing dark and the temperature was dropping sharply. The men were languishing all over the harbour, taking up every available piece of space, their shields, spears and armour glinting in the torch-light. Some of the legionaries were asleep, curled up in their thick woollen army-blankets whilst others, wrapped up in their winter cloaks, sat around in small groups, playing dice games, resting and talking to their mates in quiet, subdued voices. Fergus carefully picked his way through the dense throng of bodies and equipment, as he headed towards the waterside where the galleys of the Pannonian fleet lay moored against the stone embankment. Carnuntum served not only as a legionary base but it was also the HQ of the Pannonian fleet whose vessels patrolled the river. Behind him, away from the Danube, the huge walled city of Carnuntum stretched away into the gloom. The city was quiet and sentries had been posted to bar the roads leading to the harbour and keep away prying civilian eyes. The legionaries were waiting for the order to board the ships that would ferry them across the river. But that order would not come for another few hours yet, Fergus thought as he glanced up at the sky, clutching the small tessera tile tightly in his fist. The realisation that he had been promoted to Tesserarius, Watch Commander and third in command of the company had barely sunk in before he’d been thrown into his new role. Upon their arrival in the harbour after the short march from their winter quarters, Titus had called an ‘O group meeting’, where he issued his subordinate officers with their orders. The Centurion had gathered Furius, the signifer and Fergus together and had explained what was going to happen. The battle-group, consisting of the entire vexillation of the Twentieth Legion plus eight squadrons of Batavian cavalry and a Cohort from the First Legion, would embark onto the galleys at midnight. The navy would ferry them across the river under the cover of darkness. Once on the barbarian shore the battle-group, consisting of some eighteen hundred men, would advance northwards and inland. Special forces scouts already on the northern bank would guide them to their enemy. The Marcomanni were said to have their camp in the middle of a forest some five miles from the river. The Roman force would wait until first light and then launch their assault on the enemy encampment, hopefully catching the tribesmen completely by surprise. That at any rate was the plan.
Clutching the small tessera tile tightly in his fist, Fergus picked his way through the crowd. Titus had written the day’s watch word onto the tile and it was Fergus’s responsibility that every man in the company was made aware of what the password was. In the darkness and confusion of the pending night march, not knowing the correct password could mean the difference between life and death. As he reached the stone embankment, Fergus paused and turned to stare at the ships lying neatly anchored in rows, along the river-side. The galley oars had been withdrawn and the ships sails were furled and the spars of the masts were pointing up at a crazy angle. A few sailors and rowers were lounging about on deck but no one seemed in any hurry. And as Fergus gazed silently at the timber vessels with their fearsome colourful painted eyes adorning their bows, he suddenly thought of his father. What had happened to Marcus? Had he finally returned home or had he been lost at sea, his spirit condemned to drift on the waves for all eternity? Had he managed to retrieve Corbulo’s mortal remains and given him the burial he had wanted? Fergus sighed. No, he should not do this. He should not think about his father, or the trouble his family were in on Vectis, or Galena and the perils of childbirth which she would soon endure. If he thought too much about them, he would go crazy. There was no way of knowing how they were doing and there was nothing he could do to help. All he could do was hope for the best and pray to the family guardian spirits to protect and watch over his loved ones. But, as he stood on the stone embankment staring at the naval galleys, Fergus struggled to contain the homesickness from welling up behind his eyes. The chances that he would see all his family again were slim at best.
‘You again,’ a voice exclaimed in a thick Germanic accent. ‘Everywhere I go, you seem to pop up, Fergus. This cannot be a coincidence.’
Fergus turned and glared in the direction of the man who had spoken. Adalwolf was coming towards him with a friendly grin. The German was dressed in a long leather winter cloak, which he’d fastened with an iron clasp and a short axe was stuffed into his belt.
‘If not coincidence, what then?’ Fergus snapped embarrassed th
at the amber merchant had caught him in a moment of weakness.
‘It must be the work of the gods,’ Adalwolf replied with a humorous twinkle in his eye. ‘I take it that your company will be accompanying me across the river tonight?’
‘You are going too?’ Fergus sniffed.
‘That’s right,’ Adalwolf nodded turning to glance at the galleys. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world. The coming battle is going to be very lucrative.’
Fergus frowned. ‘What do you mean, lucrative?’ he said sharply.
But Adalwolf nonchalantly waved his question away. ‘You will see,’ the older man replied. For a moment, he paused and Fergus frowned again. Adalwolf seemed to be considering whether to tell him something.
‘One of the ways in which I serve Lord Hadrian,’ Adalwolf said at last, turning to Fergus with a grave look, ‘is through my knowledge of our enemy. I help train our special-forces scouts. I teach them the ways of my people. I help recruit the best men for the job. The two scouts who brought us the news that the Marcomanni were planning a major raid across the river, those two men were working for me. You,’ Adalwolf said pointing his finger at Fergus, ‘you could work for me. I have the connections to make it happen. The pay is better than what you get now. You have potential, Fergus. Why don’t you think about it?’
For a moment, Fergus stood staring at Adalwolf in stunned silence. The merchant however, looked deadly serious.
‘Thank you,’ Fergus muttered turning to look away. ‘But I belong to the Twentieth. It was my grandfather’s unit and it is mine too.’
***
Fergus drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The night was cold and in the darkness he could see nothing. He stood on the crowded deck of the galley as the rowers, sitting at their benches, quietly propelled the vessel across the river. The only noise came from the gentle splash of the oars in the water. Around him, the legionaries stood packed together, clutching their shields and spears, unable to move. The men were all staring into the darkness trying to spot the barbarian bank. They seemed eager to get ashore. Warily, Fergus turned to look at the water. One slip or accident and a soldier, with all the armour he was wearing, would go straight to the bottom. No wonder the men became jittery when they were forced onto a boat. A dozen paces away, across the placid river, he could just make out another galley, packed with legionaries, its oars moving in perfect synchronised harmony. A soft cry from the front of the galley made him turn. In the darkness ahead three torches had appeared. The light flickered and then began to wave about.
‘Those are our scouts,’ Titus growled. ‘That’s the signal boys,’ the Centurion called out in a louder voice. ‘Prepare to go ashore.’
With a soft grinding bump, the galley ran onto the muddy river-bank and the signifer, clad in his wolf skin cloak and clutching the company standard, jumped boldly down into the water. Seeing that the water only came up to his knees, the legionaries quickly began to scramble over the side of the ship. Onshore Fergus could hear muffled shouts and not far away another ship, came sliding up onto the mud flats. Fergus landed in the mud with the ice-cold water swirling around his knees. Hastily he made it up onto higher and drier ground. The night was filled with laboured breathing, curses, the rattle and jingle of the men’s armour and the muffled shouts of the officer’s as they tried to get their men organised.
‘Second Company, Second Company, form up on me,’ Fergus heard the standard bearer calling out in the darkness.
In the flickering light of a flaming torch, he caught a glimpse of the signifer holding up the company banner and hastened towards it. The standard bearer had chosen a large stone as the rallying point, and over his shoulder, he was carrying a large coil of rope. Some of the men from the company were already there, kneeling on one knee in a calm, disciplined fashion; their large shields resting against their bodies; their spears pointing at the sky and their helmets glinting in the torchlight. In the darkness along the river bank there seemed to be chaos and confusion as hundreds of troops continued to pour ashore from the ships. Quickly Fergus took up his position beside Titus and Furius as more men from the company came hastening towards them. In the distance he suddenly heard the whinny and snorting of horses.
‘Fergus,’ Furius said softly in the darkness, ‘count the men and report back to me. We should have 79 legionaries and NCO’s, not including officers.’
‘Yes Sir,’ Fergus muttered as he turned and silently began to count the men kneeling around the company standard. It was a hard to do with just the flickering torch light to guide him, but at last he seemed to have the number.
‘Company are all accounted for Sir,’ Fergus said smartly as he reported back to Furius, ‘79 men and NCO’s, not including officers.’
‘Good,’ Titus growled from the darkness, sounding satisfied. “Now we wait until the Cohort commander gives the signal to advance. The other companies are slow, slower than us at any rate.’ In the darkness the Centurion paused. ‘Fergus,’ he snapped at last, ‘once we move out, make sure that the men know that they are to keep hold of the guide-rope. In this darkness it will be easy to lose one’s way in the forest. I will be damned if that happens to this company. Any man who let’s go of that rope will get five lashes from my vine stick. There is no excuse. Make them understand.’
‘Sir,’ Fergus muttered turning away. As he picked his way through the kneeling ranks, muttering Titus’s instructions to the men, Fergus’s thoughts suddenly turned to Corbulo. He was now doing the job that his grandfather had done for most of his army career. Company Tesserarius, Watch Commander. Would Corbulo be proud of him? The rank was not very senior and it paid only one and half times the salary of a normal legionary. His grandfather had served for twenty-five years and old Quintus had always maintained that he could have made it to become a Centurion if it hadn’t been for his poor disciplinary record and consistent lack of respect for his commanding officers. In the darkness, a little smile appeared on Fergus’s lips. And yet, and yet, Corbulo was a hero. He had sacrificed his life to save his children. He was a legend in the Twentieth, for it had been he who had saved a whole battle-group from annihilation in Hibernia. How had he managed to do that? That achievement alone had made up for all the lost and wasted opportunities. That deed had set the family on the path to prosperity. Yes, Fergus thought, with growing certainty, one day, he Fergus, was going to make his grandfather proud. Warily he glanced up at the dark sky. The old man was watching him, judging him. He was certain of that. He could practically feel the presence of his spirit. He would not let him down.
The forest was quiet and amongst the trees and undergrowth nothing moved. The legionaries, formed up into two ranks, were down on one knee their shields leaning against their bodies and their spears pointing in the direction of the enemy encampment, which lay less than a mile away through the forest. The two lines of legionaries stretched away through the forest until they vanished from view. It was dawn and to the east the sun was a red-ball rising majestically into the clear, crisp sky. Fergus stood close to Titus and Furius, as they all waited for the order to advance. Fergus looked tired but he didn’t feel tired. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Tensely he reached up to touch the amulet Galena had given him. The amulet would protect him she had said. It had powerful magic. This was not his first fight but it was certainly the largest fight he had ever been involved in. Titus seemed to have been deliberately vague, when asked how many German warriors they would be facing, and Fergus suspected that he was deliberately withholding that information.
‘It’s dawn Sir,’ Furius muttered.
‘I know. We wait until the signal is given.’ Titus growled staring moodily into the wilderness beyond the Roman lines.
For a while the officers were silent. No one seemed interested in talking. Impatiently Titus began to tap his vine staff against his leg.
Then suddenly, from somewhere out of sight, a Roman trumpet rang out, shattering the silence and peacefulness of the forest and sending birds
soaring up into the air.
‘That’s the order to advance,’ Titus bellowed, as the trumpet blast was repeated all the way down the line.
‘Second Company will advance!’
Along the Roman line the men rose to their feet in a disciplined manner, hefted their shields off the ground and began to slowly advance through the trees; their spears pointing straight ahead. Fergus, keeping close to Titus, followed. Ahead of him the soldiers’ armour and helmets glinted in the early-morning light - an alien looking sight in the natural world of wood, fallen leaves, mud, stones and grass.
‘Was that wise to use the trumpet like that,’ Fergus muttered turning to glance at Furius. ‘Surely the enemy would have heard that too?’
‘Who knows about such things,’ Furius shrugged. ‘The senior officers must have considered that. Focus on what is to come, Fergus.’
Tensely Fergus turned to stare into the forest up ahead. He could see nothing amongst the trees. But surely he thought, the use of the trumpets to signal the start of the attack must mean that the battle-group had lost the element of surprise. In front of him, the lines of heavily-armoured legionaries continued to pick their way through the forest, maintaining an unbroken line.
‘Upon contact we will attack in wedge formations,’ Titus said in a calm voice. ‘Kill everything that crosses your path. No mercy. But we must maintain a single line with the companies on our flanks. The enemy must not be allowed to get through the gaps and into our rear. Furius, you will lead our right flank, Fergus you will take the squads on the left and I will lead the centre. And remember to keep contact with the companies on your flanks. Do not be lured into a full-scale pursuit of a fleeing enemy. They could be trying to lure us out of formation. If all is lost, you will fall back on your standard and defend it to the last. Do you understand your orders?’
‘Yes Sir,’ Furius and Fergus said at the same time.
Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5) Page 22
